


THiL Extra 2: (prequel) How SpUK happened

by harin91



Series: Sharehouse AU [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: This is a 'The House in London' extra story, linked toChapter 5.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: **not beta-ed, English is not my first language**.  
>  I'm [brightly-painted-canvas](brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was a very strange kind of man.

It seemed he had come to London three months previous chasing after another Spanish man, who had transferred to look for a job, completely convinced they were in love and meant for each other and needed to be together. The love story ended two weeks later, as the guy told Antonio he was already seeing someone else. Antonio found himself loveless, homeless, jobless and in a foreign city.

He arrived to the share-house the same day he found a part-time job in a nearby supermarket.

Not many days later, he had found someone new to dream a future of love and happiness with: a cute girl from Manchester, always shopping for groceries at 7 pm sharp every Monday, Thursday and Saturday.

They talked, exchanged numbers, phoned each other every night, dated and then decided they could try and be together. It worked for about one year, which was the time it took Antonio to figure out why the girl seemed always so busy with studying for university (especially on the evenings they were supposed to spend together) but never seemed to pass her tests: she was dating two or three other guys at the same time.

So, just as the previous relationship had, that one too left Antonio completely heartbroken.

 

That's how and why Arthur found the Spaniard on the couch on a Friday evening, drinking wine from the bottle, immersed in the complete silence of the otherwise empty apartment.

“ Where are the others?” he asked, taking of his coat and scarf and hanging them on the hanger near the door.

“ Francis work and date, Gil I'm not sure.” replied Antonio with a still quite sober voice, but at the same time obviously hoarse for the drinking and crying: “You came back earlier.”

“ Surprisingly enough,” sighed Arthur, standing in the middle of the living room, not sure if it was better to excuse himself and disappear into his room, leaving the Spaniard alone in his obvious sorrow, or stay and try at comforting him, which was most definitely not one of his greatest talents.

Antonio just patted the spot next to him on the couch, inviting him to stay and sit down.

Arthur sat and received the bottle of wine from Antonio as soon as he was settled.

He drank a mouthful, then gave it back: “Italian wine?”

“ We were supposed to go to a pizza restaurant tonight,” explained vaguely Antonio.

Arthur nodded, unsure of what else to do or say.

 

They sat in silence, drinking from the same bottle, staring at the turned off TV or at the pitch black night sky outside of the window. It was already midnight.

“ I'm sorry about Ashley.” Arthur said at some point: “She didn't seem like the type to do such things.” he added.

Except she totally did seem like the type. And Arthur had known from the very first time she had been taken home by the Spaniard and introduced to the other house-mates. Being it by how she had looked hungrily at all of them or how he had witnessed her secret exchange of numbers with both Francis and Gilbert.

But he prided himself of being a discreet, respectful gentleman so he kept his observations for himself and said nothing to the obviously head-over-heels in love Spaniard, hoping for the best.

The best never happened, in the end.

“ She's such a bitch,” said Antonio, still looking away: “ _ Puta de mierda. _ ” he added in Spanish, like he always did to underline a statement.

Arthur nodded again, drinking the wine and deciding it was best to keep quiet.

 

Except at some point, at around one in the morning, when they were drinking the second bottle of Italian wine, Antonio started talking about his love life and, like a overflowing river, kept on and on.

Arthur listened dutifully to the tales narrated half in English, half in Spanish and found out that before coming to London, Antonio had had another male partner who cheated on him with Antonio's Portuguese half-brother.

“ I always find the worse  _ locos hijos de puta... _ ” lamented the Spaniard and Arthur had to agree at this. After all if it happened three times in a row, maybe it stopped to be fortuity and started to be destiny.

“ There's a saying about something that happens three times,  _ ¿no? _ ” almost laughed Antonio, with a self-deprecating sad smile.

He drank some more, this time a long gulp of wine, then his voice broke: “It makes me sick thinking it can happen again. That I'll never find someone to trust completely and I'll always have to chase and never get back.”

Arthur didn't really know what to say to this, since it actually looked very much like the thoughts he just had.

 

In fact, he didn't really know how to behave around Antonio.

Since the first time they met one year previous, he had thought the Spanish man to be someone very difficult to understand: he seemed a very nice, friendly and happy mate on the outside, always smiling and saying light, almost out-of-place words to make others laugh. He looked like the kind of guy that, beside love issues, never had worries or problems or bad days.

But after a life spent observing others, the Brit had understood almost immediately that there was more to the Spaniard than what met the eyes: something best to be kept inside, shielded by a happy-go-lucky behaviour.

Arthur didn't like not knowing, but also didn't want to cause troubles by being too invasive.

It was hypocritical of him anyway, since he had always kept his own things for himself in the first place.

So, contrary to how it happened with Francis first and Gilbert then, he and Antonio never really clicked: they kept their distance, curious enough but never daring enough.

Arthur wasn't even sure he could openly call Antonio one of his friends.

And maybe, judging by the awkwardness of the night they were sharing and the confession he was witnessing, Antonio felt the exactly same way toward him.

 

Antonio had finished telling his story, so they kept on drinking in silence.

Then, something that might have been caused by pent up emotions, but was most definitely more likely caused by the alcohol, pushed words out of Arthur's mouth: “You seem like someone who cares a lot, but in fact you don't.”

Antonio stared at him wide-eyed, finally speechless.

“ Maybe that is your weakness. You make a big show of how much you like people, you surround yourself with friends and you are always searching for the love of your life, but you just do it to feel okay with yourself. You do it for your own enjoyment.” added Arthur, not really knowing when to stop: “Maybe that's what drives people away, in the end.”

Antonio said nothing, just kept on staring directly at Arthur, a very serious expression painted like a mask on his usually cheerful smiling face.

“ You didn't really care about Ashley, did you? That's why you're more angry than sad right now. You just... don't trust people. You don't care.” finished his heartfelt observation Arthur, not really knowing if the harsh words would make a wrong impression to his house-mate.

Antonio seemed to reflect on them, then said: “And you act like you don't care most of the time, but deep down you do.”

“ That's not...” tried the Brit.

“ _ Arturo _ . I maybe don't seem like one, but I'm an observer too.” said calmly the Spaniard, a hint of a dangerous gleam in his jade green eyes. “And let me tell you, that's how you are: you care. You like people and despite how they tend to treat you, you trust them. You like Francis despite how his frivolousness offended you in the past. You like Gilbert even though he's the least reliable man on Earth. You care for everyone.”

Arthur's breath hitched, but he didn't reply.

“ Maybe you even like me, even though you've kept away from me. Even though I'm not as easy as the others to be read.” noted Antonio, with a small knowing smile.

Arthur stared.

“ And I don't know how to react to you, as well. Because you scare me sometimes, for how much you know people just by looking at them.” confessed Antonio, too articulated to be completely drunk but as intoxicated as Arthur felt, judging by the red cheeks and lucid eyes.

“ When you look at someone, you understand him.” said Antonio, his stare fixed on Arthur, keeping him still and strangely making the Englishman's heart beat faster.

“ Antonio...” he tried to interrupt him, break the spell.

“ When you look at me, you see me.” kept on the Spaniard, then added: “No one ever saw me like you do.”

They didn't even blink, their green eyes of two very different shades staring steadily to one another. The only steady thing, since they're breath and heartbeats were faster than usual and their hands and spines shook with tingling of anticipation.

They met halfway in a kiss that was heated, open-mouthed and not in any least romantic.

Arthur moaned as Antonio's hand cupped his face and kept him close, the thumb on his chin forcing his mouth to open wide and let the other's tongue slide inside, Antonio's teeth biting down on Arthur's lower lip.

“ I'm not nearly drunk enough for this...” murmured Arthur when they parted, Antonio's other hand pulling his hips closer.

The Spaniard kissed him again, this time less forcefully, then parted to grab the half-empty bottle of wine from the floor and hand it to the Brit: “Drink up, then.”

Arthur did, but after gulping down the wine and accepting another hungry kiss, he still asked: “Do you really want to do this?”.

Antonio stilled and looked at him, confused: “I don't know.” he admitted: “Do you?”.

Arthur shook his head slightly, closing his eyes to concentrate despite the heat and excitement he felt: “I don't know.” he said then, as well.

They kissed again, still as desperately.

They moved to Arthur's room, where the Englishman welcomed Antonio on his bed by almost throwing him down on the sheets and jumping on him, taking the lead with the kissing and divesting ministration.

“ You're not really my type,” admitted earnestly Antonio once he saw Arthur naked: too pale, too blonde, too fragile-looking and acting dominant in bed.

“ Neither are you,” replied as honestly Arthur, carding his fingers through too dark and curly hair, one hand descending over tanned skin slightly hairy and muscles looking powerful but in fact only looking like it.

They had sex anyway, loud feral sex without a hint of passion, just full of lust and desire of relieving pent up sadness and frustration.

 

The next day they woke up in each other's arms on Arthur's bed, completely aware that the room's door had been flung open and there was an incredulous and slightly annoyed Frenchman looking down on them, arms crossed.

“ Explain.” Francis said, in a very unusual stern tone.

So they both did the first thing their mind suggested them to do: admit.

“ It was a mistake.” they said, Antonio jumping out of bed like a spring and running to the bathroom to throw up and Arthur rubbing his hurting temples and whining about how wine hangovers were the worst.

It had been a mistake and they didn't talk about it and they didn't look at each other for the next two days.

 

So two days later, when everything seemed solved and Francis, Gilbert and Antonio were out together drinking beer at the pub where Arthur worked, it struck Antonio like lighting that he may be feeling something for Arthur.

He just had to stop and stare at the Brit behind the counter, spilling beer and preparing cocktails, lightly joking with customers and laughing at their lines to realise he wanted more of the man. The man that looked so much cuter and relaxed under the dim lights of the pub.

Sexier when he smirked slyly at a comment, comfortable in his skin in the familiar place he was, looking fine in his black shirt and skinny jeans.

Their eyes met from afar, the house-mates' table in a corner distant from the counter.

But they held the stare and Antonio saw Arthur smile slightly and understood that what he felt, what they both felt was a leftover of lust.

There was a sign over the counter with 'Don't hit on the waiters. They are likely to hit you back. On the face. With a chair' written on it, so he kept his distance. But when Francis was tired and headed home with Gilbert, Antonio waited for Arthur's shift to end and then took him dancing in a club not far away.

They kissed on the dance floor, made out against the wall next to the toilet and ended up having sex again on Arthur's bed, this time with the door locked.

 

The next day Antonio woke up first, looked at Arthur and asked himself if what they were doing was worth a try.

Arthur woke up and looked back at him and smiled despite being tired.

When Francis stared unimpressed at them performing a shameless walk of shame out of Arthur's room and into the kitchen to have breakfast, they didn't say it had been another mistake.

 

They tentatively started discussing their relationship, as Antonio tried to care more about Arthur and Arthur tried to care more about himself. They were very new to the dynamics and struggled to adapt.

Sometimes they were far too apologetic if their shifts didn't match enough to spend the evening and night together and some other time Antonio sacrificed his whole lunch break to bring packed lunch to the bookshop where Arthur worked and eat together.

They also tried and succeeded in small but completely authentic gestures of affection, like when Arthur left red carnations beside Antonio’s cup of coffee for a whole week and when Antonio, from time to time, bought Spanish poetry books from the bookshop only to gift them to Arthur.

But what kept them going and at the same time drove the other two house-mates insane was definitely the sex: they never had any problem at expressing how good sex was between each other. They improvised it behind the bookshelves of the shop, in the back room of the pub and in the shower at home, risking being shouted at by a very late and a very in need of a wee Francis and Gilbert.

They weren't afraid to admit they lusted for each other and that became the first bridge of encounter in their relationship, a way they could have fun and be intimate: kisses became more playful and then somehow turned to be more sweet. They caressed and explored more of each other under the sheets.

They found a strange but nice equilibrium.

 

They even tried going out for a real date at some point.

Antonio had planned the evening out choosing the restaurant and film to watch and they were both exceptionally excited and giggly about it.

But then that evening saw the worst rain and thunderstorm falling over London.

They decided to stay home and order take-away, but there were no delivery in that kind of crazy weather. Antonio cooked pasta and Arthur choose a film on DVD, but then Gilbert came home and scrounged their pasta and sat between them to watch the movie.

When also Francis came home, distracted them by chatting about his new project at work and offering them a French cake he had baked, they officially renounced their date.

That night they went to bed together but didn't have sex.

Lying down together under the sheets, they looked at each other and laughed sincerely.

“ Maybe we're not the kind of people that go on dates,” said Antonio.

“ Thanks for tonight, I had fun.” said instead Arthur, smiling.

“ Me too.” admitted Antonio and they kissed on the lips and fell asleep hugging, listening to each other's heartbeats.

 

At some point, everyone knew they were together and started calling them a couple.

Even Francis seemed convinced and honestly happy for them, especially since Arthur had told him how they were trying to overcome their previous mistakes and give each other trust.

 

Breaking up, then, had been another great exercise in trust.

It once again hit them in a flash, but they later realised it was the best way for it to happen and also the same way everything seemed to always happen between them.

They were in bed and Antonio was trying to initiate a second round of sex when they looked into each other's eyes and knew.

Arthur voiced it first: “I don't love you.”

They stilled and fell silent and didn't know how to feel about this realisation: Arthur's hand was on Antonio's chest, just over his heart; the Spaniard's naked thighs around Arthur's, their body completely exposed.

“ Please understand. I love this,” explained Arthur, when he was ready enough to understand it as well. He gestured to them both and caressed Antonio's cheek with tenderness: “I love doing this with you. I have fun and I've never felt this relaxed in probably all my life. But I don't feel love.” he said.

“ Neither do I,” admitted Antonio, still unsure of how to react.

“ You're a better person that I thought you were,” said then Arthur, baring his heart completely: “And I like you more than I ever thought I would.”

Antonio nodded and smiled back, just slightly.

They lay down and Antonio kissed Arthur one more time, but this time gently, lovingly, meaningfully.

“ Thank you” they said.

 

The next few days were harder than they thought: after months of being able to touch and kiss on every occasion and being used to spend time together, keeping a reasonable distance was suddenly very difficult.

But after a pair of weeks they were back to be just house-mates, this time also somehow friends even though Arthur barely could say and acknowledge it, especially since his way of coping with the break up had been slightly more harsh than Antonio's and he now feigned intolerance and annoyance toward the Spaniard more often than before.

But they still spoke when there was the need to and they still had each other's back and made each other laugh on the right occasions. They still shared long, knowing looks at each other when they had something to say but didn't want to use their voices.

Francis and Gilbert didn't say anything, probably ignoring part of the reasons why everything had happened but happy enough that the dynamics inside the house were safe and they all could keep living together, especially since a new Russian guy was going to stay with them for a few months.

 

One day Antonio told Arthur he was seeing someone new, a cashier at the supermarket, a nice young brunette lady.

Arthur smiled behind his cup of tea, sipped the brown liquid and said: “Seems like your type.”

He was very happy for him.

 

So, when Alfred came into the picture, Antonio couldn't help being happy for Arthur as well: after just a glance at the two of them, sat together on a blanket on the grass of Regent’s Park during a spring picnic, he had known they were meant for one another.

The only thing he had to make sure was that Alfred knew what he got himself into.

He confronted the American one evening, when the college student was waiting for Arthur to get ready for their first date.

He sat next to Alfred on the couch, looked straight at him and said: “Break his heart and I'm breaking your legs.  _ ¿Entendido? _ ” with just a hint of one of his best evil smiles.

Alfred gulped but didn't reply.

Antonio stood up and walked back to his room, satisfied.

The kid seemed like a nice guy, anyway.


End file.
